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More in Sorrow than in Anger

Past promise starred in white on black
now, coward, bows to stark attack,
as Miss amiss, remiss of bliss
no gift transmits, no parting kiss,
no passing flow may tide love back,
just unjust torture, stretched on rack.

Yet Gift in German cannot lack
ironic understanding - fact
plague vision curse calls as abyss
replaces metamorphosis
which, stifled now, has got the sack,
past glory's presents must repack.

Hope, once held high, down vortex crack
has fallen low, nor trace, nor track,
will leave - one day proclaimed 'Exist! '
next, angels laid to rest, 'Desist! '
cried, while bloom memories most stack
mind mirage prove, lost dreams, alack!

Crimson confession sin intact
stunts bloom, busts boom, turns fancy fact
doomed, fall too steep to handle - this
is gloom tomb room antithesis
of love's dreams, to autodidact
contradicts: fair thought, false act.

O brave new world's new dawn, alack,
it seems consistency has lacked,
'acceptance' as hypothesis
is wanting found, ground zero, this
can't stay unmoved, guilt weighs, frame tack
round aura gilt gleams inexact.

From heart in heat to cold urn plaque,
to grave from rave one step, one smack,
to void from telekinesis,
from wishful thinking reminisce,
from common ground can truth back-track
to grounded flight, light dowsed, wretch wracked.

[c] Jonathan Robin written 2 August 2008

EERHT NOITPO OPTION THREE also anagram for O POINT THERE and PIN THERE TOO

plus Word Bank

Angels
Crimson
Glory
BloomConfession
Curse
Plague
Laid To Rest
Vision

“Equo ne credite, Teucri! Quidquid id est, timeo Danaos et dona ferentes”,
Do not trust the horse, Trojans! Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks even if bearing gifts”.
Virgil Aenid II 49
http: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeo_Danaos_et_dona_fere ntes

Contemporary multi-lingual transliteration 'and in-house joke'
Chevauchez les rêves tu cries
“Don't believe in (dream) horses! ' you cry, 'I fear geeks, even if they bring gifts”.

Gift in German: Poison
rack: an instrument of torture to stretch, disjoint or mutilate victims
wrack: smash or break forcefully

If 'the answer to the universe is 42' then the void must sing a tune un_42_nate

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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